Personal Narrative: Do Monsters Eat People

Tonight he wouldn’t get much sleep. He hugged his arms to his chest and let his teeth chatter. He hadn’t been this cold since he had nearly drowned trying to escape more than a year ago. “It’s warmer in the cabin if you want.” Called Peter’s hesitant voice.”

In late May during the wee hours of the morning a rapid knock at the door woke Anna from another horrible nightmare. She sat straight swimming in her bed, crying, and drowning in the torrent of blankets. Suddenly there was a second knock, but before she could completely rub the sleep from her eyes the door was opened and in stepped a very thin, tall stranger with soft curly dark brown hair and golden eyes hidden behind spectacles.

I made up my mind to start praying that I could stop being wicked and become a better boy. So I kneeled down—but the words wouldn’t come. Why not? It was no use to try and hide it from Him, or from ME either. I knew exactly why those words wouldn’t come.

It started raining yesterday on the trip here. The open wagon provided no cover, no comfort. What little things we had brought were soaked through. Mr. Avery, our driver, was a very harsh man. He gave no consolation or pity. Nothing but hate. A wicked old man he was. The wagon ride felt like torture. It was the longest four hours of my life. There was no conversation. Just Abrahams coughing, and my sobs, the baby didn’t cry, she didn’t smile either. Caleb tried to ask why we were so sad. I couldn’t muster the strength to answer. Poor boy. The second I stepped foot off that wagon and onto the dreaded ground of that farm I knew this was it, hell. Oh, I wanted to snap that woman's neck the second she struck Caleb. He’s just a boy. That woman, Ms. Ada Jaggs, was a witch in every sense of the word. And worst of all my husband and son will be separated from me while we are here.

I am going to sleep in my own bed in my home; as I sleep, a familiar scent slowly starts to fill the air. I wake up in a cold sweat; I know he is there, in my house. I don’t open my eyes because I don’t want to know how close he is, but I can tell he is still in the hallway; the scent is not strong enough yet. I listen with all my might, hoping I can hear the carpet moving under his feet or maybe I will hear his breath first. The carpet gives it away, he is entering my room; I can feel him standing over me for what feels like a lifetime. I’m so careful not to change the pattern of my breathing for fear he will know I’m awake. He turns and walks out. Now I’m listening even harder, and my heart sinks when I hear it. My mother’s gasping breaths, I know he has her by the throat. What do I do? I’m only fourteen, by no means large enough or strong enough to stand up to him, so I stay and pray he won’t hit her again. Then the shouting starts. He accuses her of running around on him, with her boss, the neighbor, and every other male she has come in contact with. He screams at her to take off her clothes, he wants to see her

The sleepy fog that had enveloped my mind quickly dissipated as Hrothgar shared the news of his comrade’s abduction from Heorot during the night and the reclamation of Grendel’s arm by his vindictive mother. With urgency quickening my step, I tracked Grendel’s footsteps to his watery lair, which bubbled and swirled with dark blood. Sorrow and rage fueled my determination as I caught sight of Esher’s decapitated head lying stranded on the beach of the monster-infested lake. The shadowy depths of the lake welcomed me as I sought out the murderous she-demon who had killed Hrothgar’s close friend.

I'm sitting in my room getting high now. Doors locked, music up with his lights out. I just take another take until his room gets full of smoke. 5-6-7 hours till he knocks out. Now I started stealing pills from my mom 8-9-10 at a time and they’re gone and maybe for the moment all my problems seem to fade, but the high fades too after not too long and that’s when it sinks in that these drugs won’t fix me curled up on the floor, can’t take it anymore. Now I'm talking to god because he’s the only one who gets me. On my knees, looking up, can’t stop crying. “God I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but this time I really need you right now, please god help me, say something. Just give me a sign, because now I'm falling apart and I don't think that I can do it. Please god, give me the strength to pull through it.

“It’s not me, it’s Jonathan. I think he’s really sick,” I say, tears coming to my eyes. I follow them as they make their way to Jonathan’s room. That’s when I hear my mother gasp and rush to his side. I quickly notice that his condition was worse than before and his skin was so hot it was turning red. My Father hurried to get the doctor and we set Jonathan back on the bed as I kept putting more wet rags on him. That evening when my Father got home, he had no doctor. “The soldiers arrested him because he couldn't pay the bills,” my father says hopelessly. The next morning, we had the terrible task of burying Jonathan, my loving, sweet, pesky-at-times, twin brother. That evening nobody really talked. Suddenly, there was a bang on the door and my cousin, Benjamin ran in. “They’re after me! Please

I know you’re going to try to find me, if you haven’t started already, but you have to turn back. Bonehill and my grandfather’s debt aren’t worth it. The dangers here are too great.

“Hey Jack” Jack was back but how that fast? “ Hello how did you sleep last night?” she questioned “I heard shuffling when I passed your room last night” A concerned look passed her face. I wish I could tell her, but I couldn’t “ Oh just the usual nightmares.” I replied everything was still racing through my mind it was hard to even answer and even to look at her without lying spelled across my face.

“Nothing to be frightened of dear, we were praying out all the bad spirits this house had been damned with. All is good now, no harm shall come to you,” sister Agatha leaned in closer and lowered her voice ever so slightly, “now that you’ve disposed of those accursed children, correct?” John’s breath caught in his throat, as though he was suffocating on his own words. “Y-yes, it’s done.”

It hurts. My bright red bruises under the light were buzzing from the pain. The yelling and arguing were muffled by my loud sobs. Why did this have to happen to me? I was just a kid, I didn’t do anything! Stomp stomp stomp. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He found me and yelled into my ears even more. I was called ugly, fat, disgusting, useless, girly, weak. The words ringed in my ears as I asked myself once again, why? I was like a slave, I couldn’t defend myself, I had to survive the beatings. I succumbed to the insults and descended into chaos.

The summers in Assur were incredibly hot and dry, and I had spent the day working ambitiously with my father and brother irrigating the crop so it would not die. The sun had set for some time now, so we decided to call it a day and go inside for dinner. While we were working on the farm my mother and sister had been cooking in the kitchen in order to feed a household of five. My father had sat down at the head of the table and called for my sister to bring him his liquor, My father was a mean drunk, laughing at himself, demanding from my mother and my sister, insulting my brother and I, while we sat in silence. Most nights this would carry on until he had drank himself to sleep, but that night he order my mother to bring himself a fifth cup of liquor. When she told him the bottle was empty, he grabbed her viciously by the hair. “Well why don’t you go buy some more?” my father said, throwing her a coin. He then struck my mother across the face twice, and on the second time she fell to the floor. My sister rushed to help her up, “sit down!” he commanded. My brother and I were furious, but what could we do? It was the law, he was allowed to hit my mother as he so pleased. So I offered to go into the city to get him his liquor, and my brother agreed to watch over my mother and sister in the meantime.

That night, I tucked myself in under the white covers of the spacious king bed. I awoke later in the evening to hear a thump coming from upstairs. I snuck out of bed, careful not to wake John. I crept upstairs, the wooden floorboards rocking beneath my feet. Pushing the door ajar, I peered through to see what was there. I pushed the door open completely, searching for a cause of the noise.

Ellie and I lay in our beds, neither one of us knew what to say. In the other room, our host parents were arguing. We didn’t know what about, but we knew it was serious. Then we heard a “THWACK” followed by silence. Ellie and I sat up in our beds and looked at each other, I could tell she was as scared as I was. “Was that? Did he just?” she asked me. Then the arguing started back up again. We calmed back down until we heard it again. “THWACK” We knew then, the noise we heard, was him beating her. We got up, our hearts racing; neither of us knew what to do. We got our nerves together to go get help. When we opened the door to our room we saw the children sitting on the couch crying out for their mother. I could see the fear in their face and I knew something needed to change.